


Reunion

by CitrusVanille



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mid-Prisoner of Azkaban, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4502319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night of the break-in of Gryffindor Tower in PoA. Where did Sirius go when he couldn't find Peter in the dorm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

_There! That’s it. That’s the one. So close –_

He tore back the curtains, raising his knife, eyes scanning feverishly, then –

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

_SHIT!_

He took several hasty steps away from the bed and the still-screaming boy, and changed, dropping to all fours and clutching the knife in his teeth.

“What’s going on?” came the disoriented question from one of the other beds, and for a split second, he hesitated, wondering if it might be… But there was no time. He pawed the door open and heard it slam shut behind him as he raced down the stairs. He had to get out before the noise woke the rest of the school.

Down the spiral staircase, across the common room – it hadn’t changed in sixteen years – through the portrait hole – with that stupid knight – and headlong down the corridor.

He’d meant to go back out the way he’d got in, but somehow he wound up in front of an office door. In his day, it had been the office of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He didn’t know what it was any more, but the scent that lingered about the door was distinctive, to his sharp nose, and familiar.

 _I should go,_ he thought, even as he scratched at the door.

There was a light thump and a gasp from inside the room, followed by silence, another, very different, gasp, and hurried footsteps.

The door was wrenched open, and light flooded out. There he was, haloed by the flickering firelight, older, and more worn, but still the same man.

For a long moment, they merely stared at each other, not moving, just staring.

Then the man in the doorway stumbled back, holding the door for the great black dog to pass through before shutting it tightly and triggering the locking spell.

The dog looked up at the brown-haired man for another moment, then changed, rising back to two legs, and taking the knife from his mouth. “Rem…” he whispered, voice rusty as an old gate from disuse.

“Don’t do this to me,” the other man breathed, staring in a mixture of fear, anger, anguish, and hope. “God, if you exist, don’t do this to me. It’s too awful.” He was backing away.

“Rem,” the dark-haired man repeated, voice stronger.

“Not real. Not real. Not real.” It was a ragged chant.

The wild-looking man moved closer and grabbed the chanter’s shoulders, shaking him almost violently. “Remus! It’s me! I’m real.” Grey eyes peered into amber. “You know me, Rem.”

“No. No. _No_!” he was shaking his head, eyes wide and glistening with barely contained tears. “No. Please no. No. No.”

_Shit._

“Rem!” he shook the other’s shoulders again, fighting back his own panic. “Remus, come on! It _is_ me! Don’t fight it! I’m real!” he grabbed one of the man’s hands in one of his own. “See? You can feel me! Trust me, Rem… Please, Moony…”

Something flickered in the amber eyes. A hesitant hand rose to caress a sunken cheek and chapped lips. “Siri…”

“Yes! God, yes! Yes, Moony, yes, it’s me!” grey eyes flooded.

The light-haired man suddenly threw his arms around the taller man’s neck. “God, Sirius… I thought… I thought…” He abruptly pulled away, and all the emotion in his face was eclipsed by the very real fear in his eyes. “Sirius, you’ve got to get out of here! They know you’re in the area! They’ll find you! You’ve got to run!”

“I don’t have time.” Sirius released the other man and turned away slightly. He nervously tapped the knife blade against his palm. “I was up in Gryffindor Tower. The boy – red hair, freckles – he screamed, woke everyone up. They’ll be looking for me. I don’t know why I came here, I’m putting you at risk…” _Stupid. Stupid!_

Sirius turned towards the door. “I shouldn’t have come here…”

“Wait!” Remus grabbed the other man. “You can’t… No. You know I could never let you go! You were right to come here.” He fumbled at his belt and pulled out his wand, which he pointed at the door at the back of the office. “Go,” he said. “There’s hot water and towels. You can… clean up. I’ll… make some tea and… find you something to eat.”

“Moony…”

“Go.” Remus gave the painfully thin escapee a slight push towards the inner door. “We’ll talk after.”

Grey eyes held amber for a long, silent moment, then the matted head nodded, and Sirius did as he was told.

He saw the steaming tub in the middle of the room and realized immediately that Remus must have conjured it, because not even at Hogwarts did people keep full-sized bathing tubs in their bedrooms, and that was where he was: Remus’s bedroom. That fact alone gave him a jolt. How long had it been?

He was irresistibly drawn towards the large, neatly-made four-poster bed. His canine sense of smell could detect no scent other than Remus’s, and the implications of that brought a smile to his face. The smile was small – the barest upturning of the corners of his cracked lips – but it was the first real smile to cross his visage in far too many years.

Sirius reached out one hand to caress the familiar-looking coverlet, but stopped, frozen, hand hovering mere centimeters above the worn fabric. This was the same throw that had once adorned the bed he himself had slept in, all those years ago, wrapped contentedly around his mate. He could barely believe Remus still had it. He felt his lips tilt upwards a little more, and his eyes stung.

He pulled away from the bed and went to bathe before the water cooled.

– – – – –

When Sirius emerged from the bedroom, wrapped in only a clean towel, he saw Remus’s eyes dart across his thin frame, taking in the scars, old and new, and the prominent ribs.

“And you were always after _me_ to eat more,” Remus said, trying to joke, but his light tone was ruined as his voice cracked. “Let me get you something to wear.”

Sirius followed Remus back into the bedroom, and to the closet in the corner.

Remus rummaged for a moment, before pulling out a worn and slightly ratty pair of sweatpants and an equally worn tee-shirt. “These will fit you,” he said.

Sirius took them, realizing with another jolt that they were his own clothes, or had been. “Why do you have these?” he asked.

“Because I couldn’t have you,” was the simple reply.

“How did you get them?”

“I took what I dared before the Ministry searched the apartment. Dumbledore had suggested I leave for a while, and take anything of value with me. I’m glad I listened. When I got back, everything was gone. They wouldn’t even let me near the place without an official Ministry escort.”

“You’ve worn them.” It wasn’t a question.

“They were yours.”

“Moony…”

“Don’t talk. Put them on. Then come eat something. I will wait for you. A few more minutes won’t hurt.”

Sirius watched Remus walk back out to the office, the door closing softly behind him.

“Every minute hurts, Rem,” Sirius whispered. He stared at the closed door for one long moment, then turned away to dress in clothes that had once been his and were now his once more, hoping against hope that the man that had once been his might, too, be his once more.

**END**


End file.
